Lovelorn
by Fathomless Melancholia
Summary: When her courage fails her, Mikan resorts to letters as a way to convey her feelings to her long-time crush, Natsume Hyuuga.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story contains OOCs

**Lovelorn**

* * *

**Prologue**

It started with an innocent love letter that was never supposed to read.

She wrote it at night. Under the burning light of the lamp, her words turned into heartache flittering across the page. She wrote until ink smeared and her hand cramped, but it wasn't enough. Not for her. She kept on writing until her heartbeat raced and tears went trickling down her eyes.

They say the best way to ease strong feelings is to write it down, hoping that the words on the paper would somehow capture all the emotions that you've never expressed out loud; and that by doing so, she was supposed to feel liberated of the secret hanging heavy in her heart.

_Dear Natsume-kun,_

_You probably don't know me…but that's okay because I know you. Even though we've been in the same class since the start of middle school, we've never talked. I was always too afraid to start a conversation with someone like you—the kind of person everyone aspires to be._

_All these years I've contented myself with just admiring you from halfway across the room. Whether it was in class or in the hallways, I told myself that watching you was enough for me. Just being able to see you each day…to see your rare smiles, it was enough for me._

_But I'd never been more wrong._

_With graduation coming up, and the inevitability of parting ways becoming a veritable reality, I can no longer keep this secret all to myself._

_I didn't mean to fall in love with you, Natsume-kun, but you see that is exactly what happened. Somewhere along the years, I fell in love with your sweet smiles and soft laughter, and I swear in those moments I knew my heart belonged to you._

_Yours Truly,_

_-Mikan Sakura_

When she finished, Mikan sealed the letter, tucked it into her bag and went to sleep. By the time she woke up for school, she had forgotten all about it.

○•○

"Isn't it weird that today is our last day in this school?" Hotaru said, looking up at the crenellated walls of the academy. Vines had started twisting and curling around the stone and the certain rock pieces had chipped off as the years rolled by. The formidable building in front of them looked weathered and beaten, but despite the abuse it had endured over the years, it still maintained a regal appearance.

The two girls stood in the middle of a dirt path way in solemn silence watching as students from all grades passed them. It felt weird to say farewell to the building that had been their second home away from home.

The breeze was gentle, rustling their skirts and sending stray petals from nearby cherry blossom trees to brush their skin. "I-It is kind of daunting…knowing that we're heading off into the real world now," Mikan replied.

They stood there, in front of the wrought-iron gates for what seemed like an eternity; neither of them daring to break the solemn silence between them.

The tolling of the bells snapped them out of their reverie. "We should hurry," Hotaru looked over at her best friend. "If we're late for the closing ceremony, there's no imagining what kind of punishment Narumi-sensei will give us."

Mikan nodded in response.

Truth be told, Mikan never really liked school much. Academics weren't her forte. Unlike Hotaru, who had been blessed with an almost godlike intelligence for her age, Mikan was pretty average in all respects. In her final year, she managed to squeeze her way into the top one hundred of her grade, but then again, that achievement was abysmal compared to Hotaru who consistently ranked in the top ten.

When they entered the auditorium, it was already packed with kids seated in rows upon rows of chairs. The chattering of hundreds of students was almost deafening, and Mikan could see dozens of teachers scolding a bunch of troublemakers on each side.

Sumire rolled her eyes as she saw them coming. "God, could you two ever be punctual for once in your lives?" When neither Mikan nor Hotaru responded, Sumire breathed out a heavy sigh. "I saved a seat for you guys." Sumire patted the two empty chairs beside her.

"Thanks, Sumire. I really owe you one," Hotaru said, sliding into the seat.

Mikan muttered her own words of gratitude but her voice was so soft that Sumire had to strain to hear.

"You really need to work on that, Mikan." Sumire gave her a tender look. It was a tender expression that reminded Mikan of the way mothers looked upon their children: soft and gentle.

"W-Work on what?" Mikan asked, her voice a mere whisper among the cacophony of voices.

"Well for one thing, speaking up. You should be able to say whatever it is you damn well please, especially since you're a graduating middle school student and not an icky grade school kid anymore."

Hotaru nodded in agreement, and Mikan blushed at Sumire's blunt remark. Whatever happened in her life, no matter how much things changed, she knew she could rely on her two best friends and their candor. Between the three of them, Mikan always felt like the odd one out. Both of her best friends were rather popular, excelling in their respective fields, with Hotaru dominating in academics and Sumire being named the most valuable player at about every sport club there was in the school, and then there was her: Mikan Sakura, Queen of Mediocrity.

She was average in sports; at least, she liked to think of herself that way. Unlike most girls in the school, she knew how to dribble a basketball properly and was pretty intuitive when it came to split-second decisions. And when it came to academics, she wasn't stupid either but then again, she had never been the sharpest pupil in class.

The only thing that Mikan thought she excelled in was art, and even then Mikan learned quickly that art was subjective and there would always be critics who were ambivalent at what she thought was her "talent".

The three friends sat there in silence at first. There was still a lot of time until the ceremony would start, so the three of them entertained themselves by reminiscing about the past. The nostalgia hit them all hard.

"…and remember when Sumire walked into a first year class math class, even though she was a second year student, and didn't realize that she'd been in the wrong class at all until the lecture ended?" Hotaru burst into a hearty laugh as she said this, and even Mikan couldn't stop herself from grinning.

Sumire gave Hotaru a light punch on the shoulder. "How was I supposed to know? I came late that day and since I didn't understand anything, I took it as a sign that I was in the right class. After all, I never understood anything when it comes to math."

Hotaru batted her eyes and gave the blonde girl a mocking smile. "That's because you slept through the whole semester during freshman year and ended up badgering me for my notes when finals came." Hotaru shook her head with a playful smile on her lips.

Had four years really flown by just like that?

Sumire smiled, remembering the memory as if all the good times the three of them shared together had happened only yesterday. The mood didn't last long for when Sumire looked over at Mikan, her smile faltered.

Hotaru turned around as well to get a view of what Sumire was looking at. "Sumire, what's wrong?" Hotaru turned around as well to get a view of what Sumire was looking at. Both pairs of eyes made Mikan feel suddenly self-conscious.

"Uhm, is anything wrong?" Mikan asked, worry lining her voice.

"What's that piece of paper sticking out of your bag, Mikan?" Sumire retorted.

Mikan gave her a puzzled look but before she could even look down, Sumire had snatched the parchment from out her bag.

"From Mikan Sakura to…Natsume Hyuu-" Sumire read aloud, clamping her own mouth with her free hand while Hotaru gasped along with her. "Could it be…? Mikan, did you write Natsume a love letter?"

Mikan blushed furiously. It seemed as if all the blood in her body rushed into her face and she had no doubt that she must've resembled a tomato at that moment. Before Sumire could even open the letter, Mikan dived for it, catching the end of the envelope before ripping it out of Sumire's hand. She was breathing rather hard and struggled to find the right words. "I-I wrote this letter for Natsume, but I didn't mean for him to read it. It was just supposed to be a cathartic thing, you know, a way to rid myself of this attraction for him."

"Did it work?" Hotaru asked casually.

Mikan's unrequited love wasn't very conspicuous. The only people who knew how Mikan felt towards Natsume were her two best friends: Sumire and Hotaru . Sumire and Hotaru had always known because they said they could read Mikan as easily as a book. After all, the three of them had been best friends for more than half of their lives. Secrets between them were little to none.

Mikan didn't know how to respond. Did it work? Well, she _had _felt a little better after writing the letter but the aching her heart hadn't entirely gone away. But before she could answer, Narumi-sensei blew his whistle and ascended the stage.

For once in her life, Mikan was glad for the interruption.

The audible whisper of students hushed into silence as hundreds of eyes trailed Narumi's ascent up the stairs and as she leaned his elbows on the pulpit. Adjusting the microphone before herself, Narumi cleared her throat; the scratchy sound of the microphone resonated throughout the room. "It's been another great year here at Sai Academy, and I thank the faculty for working hard and encouraging our students to do the same."

Narumi nodded to the rows of teachers seated on the side, giving each one a cursory glance of acknowledgement. "As customary, to close this school year off, a speech will be given by the selected representative of this year's graduating senior class. Please join me as we welcome Hyuuga Natsume—senior representative and student council president—to the stage."

The hordes of students around her began to clap, the sound rose in a deafening crescendo echoing across the room. Upon hearing Natsume's name, Mikan froze, suddenly immobilized by the knowledge of his presence. _Dummy_, she chastised herself. Of course Natsume was going to be joining them. He was part of the graduating class after all.

For a moment, it seemed that she had almost forgotten to _how _to clap, startled as she was to know that Natsume so near her…yet so far away. Had not Hotaru nudged her with an elbow, Mikan would've never snapped out of her stupor.

Again, Mikan could hear murmurs of approval. She caught tidbits of conversation from all around her without even trying. "Just as I thought, with a brain and looks like his, Natsume-kun was bound to have been voted as the senior representative." A girl said, seated behind Mikan.

"I heard he was popular with the girls too," a freshman boy said, sniggering. "Apparently, a lot of the senior girls are confessing to him today, and most of the ones who already did were rejected."

Mikan perked up her ears and leaned to her side, trying to get into a range where she could hear the conversation comfortably.

From the corner of her eye, she could see two freshman boys lean in to each other almost conspiratorially, before one of them said, "Really? I almost feel bad for those girls, but they should've known better. As if someone like Natsume-kun would be willing to waste his time on anyone less than perfect like himself." The bigger of the two boys scoffed as he said this.

Mikan stopped clapping and lowered her eyes to the floor. Somehow, she suddenly felt inexplicably cold as if the blood in her veins had turned into ice. She shivered involuntarily. When Hotaru turned and gave her a questioning look, she curled her lips into a faint smile. She had no intention of unnecessarily worrying her friends over petty matters. God knows that Hotaru and Sumire already their own problems to deal with, and she didn't want hers to be an added burden.

The murmurs in the crowed subsided and Mikan had only to look up to know why. _He _was there. Standing on the podium with his raven hair slicked back, looking every inch of an aristocrat, her Natsume was there.

A round of applause burst out of the crowed. People were catcalling and hooting in a discordant mixture of sounds.

"We love you Natsume!" A couple of Natsume's self-proclaimed fangirls yelled.

Natsume turned to their direction and flashed them a devilish grin, sending ruptures of squeals to ripple through the crowed. Even though the grin wasn't made for her, Mikan could swear her heart almost stopped beating.

Natsume tapped the microphone as if testing it. When he seemed satisfied, he cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Mikan watched the grin fade from his face, leaving no trace of its presence behind. When he opened his eyes again, Natsume looked serious.

"I'm honored to have been chosen as the senior representative for this year's graduation," he began, speaking with the raspy lilt in his voice that Mikan loved so much. "Most of you may not know this, but one of my biggest fears was public speaking. So to be up here, in front of so many classmates, is a big accomplishment for me." Natsume gulped visibly, his hands tightened around the pulpit.

For a minute, Mikan thought that he was going to have a nervous breakdown, but that fear was assuaged once he composed himself, smoothening the worry lines that had formed on his forehead.

Natsume took a deep breath. "But I somehow found that storage of courage hidden inside of me to bring myself up this pulpit and deliver this speech to you—_for _you. Because during the crazy four years that I've spent in this school, I've had the privilege to watch all of us grow. Somewhere in those crazy four years, we had grown to see each other more than _just classmates_….somewhere in those crazy four years we had become a _family_."

Mikan sat on the edge of her seat, afraid to move lest she should miss hearing anything. Natsume's voice sounded so plaintive yet so beautiful all at once. He talked about freshman year, when he had slipped and accidentally kissed Ruka Nogi, the student council vice president—a story that made Ruka cringe in the front row in reminiscence, but nonetheless drew raucous laughter from everyone else.

He talked about the patience of the teachers. The kindness he saw in Narumi-sensei, the teacher who had selflessly tutored many a failing students of his class during after school hours. He talked about the good times—about the school's fall festivals; and he talked about the bad times, of when Iruka-sensei had collapsed suddenly whilst teaching, sending the students of class 1A into a frenzy.

But most of all, he talked about the things he'd miss. The things that they all would miss once they had graduated. Never again would one of them enjoy Narumi's lame jokes each morning through the intercom, and never again would they ever feel as young and carefree as they did now, because things were changing, and they were changing fast.

Suddenly, Natsume lowered his voice. "I think all of us never expected to find a family in this community. Yet somehow, that is what we became."

And somewhere between his soft words and soothing voice, students began to cry—boys and girls alike—because the reality of parting was finally sinking in, and they knew that the _family_ they had become would soon be torn asunder.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dear Natsume-kun,_

_Do you remember when we first met? _

_It was under the Sakura tree after the first school festival. You were wearing a western-style suit that was a little lighter than your dark hair color now, and I was wearing my school uniform because I couldn't find the right kimono to fit the my class's theme of "Spring Love," or whatever that meant. _

_I was supposed to be standing outside class 1A's booth, collecting tickets as customers went into our makeshift, traditional Japanese restaurant. Hotaru orchestrated it all right down to the colors of the cloth—which was light blue, by the way. _

_About half the class dressed up in yukatas since they were stationed at each table to be waiters. The other half had volunteered to cook behind the scenes. We were situated in the classroom usually used for cooking, and Hotaru installed a huge partition that separated the kitchen from the rest of the classroom so the volunteer student cooks could do their job in peace. _

_When business started going slow, I slipped off somewhere and eventually had another girl take my place for a while. I figured that Hotaru wouldn't notice her insignificant little ticket collector slipping off in the blue, because she was dealing with more pressing issues at the moment._

_I need a breather. So I stepped out to the courtyard and went to my hideout; at least, it used to be my very own hideout until I saw you there—or more correctly, until I saw the back of your head, _

_At first I wanted to go back inside and wait it out. I thought that maybe you'd leave. But you just sat there on the bench, unflinching and unmoving. _

_I sat down beside you, only you didn't notice. I snuck a peak and saw that your eyes were closed, as if you were sleeping. But the moment I made myself comfortable you opened your eyes, and stared out into the open. _

_You never looked at me but kept staring at the leaves falling from the Sakura tree; each petal danced slowly to the ground. I noticed that your eyes were a beautiful shade of crimson. You told me that you thought it was beautiful—the Sakura tree, I mean. _

_I asked you why you were there, and what you were doing. You told me that you just wanted to kill some time and that right here, the bench under the Sakura tree, was the only place you could get some piece of quiet. _

_We sat in silence for a while, and I looked over to see if you had fallen asleep again. You didn't. In fact, I could see your profile: you had your chin placed on your crossed hands and you had this look on your face—it's hard to describe—but it was as if you weren't there, as if your headed off to another world. Wherever you went, I wanted to go there too._

_You leaned back and placed your hand on the bench and I unwittingly laid my hand down beside yours. Our hands almost touched but both of us didn't make a move. _

_Looking back, I think that's when I started to fall in love with you. _


	3. Chapter 3

**_3 years later_**

"Mikan! Wake up!"

She rolled over to her side and curled herself around her blanket. She was exhausted, and the comforting warmth of the bed was too tempting.

"Mikan, I swear, if you don't get up now—"

Mikan felt the blanket being torn away from her. Cold air rushed around her, prickling her skin. She groaned and sat up reluctantly, rubbing her temples.

"What did you do that for?" she tried saying, but she was too frazzled to string out a coherent sentence, so instead, what came out was: "Whaddya dovatfur?"

"Are you drunk?" Sumire asked, climbing onto her bed and pretending to sniff around her as if to confirm her suspicions.

Mikan yawned. "No."

"Well, then get up, missy, I thought you said you wanted to be early for our first day?"

Mikan stretched her arms up languidly and let out a pleasurable sigh. She seriously slept like a rock last night. Hotaru and Sumire had slept over last night so that they could enjoy their last day of freedom (as described by Sumire), together. In reality, it was the last day of summer vacation and all three of them decided to spend it together. However, staying up late to binge watch every movie that Meg Ryan had starred in turned out to be a very bad idea; a mistake that Mikan was paying for dearly that morning with bleary eyes, and an irresistible urge to hibernate for the rest of the year.

Her head throbbed and she looked around lazily to see that the two futons beside her had been made up nicely. The blankets had been folded, and the pillows were piled on top of each other.

"Where's Hotaru?" she asked.

"In the bathroom. She's almost done taking a shower. You're up next if you want."

Mikan looked over at Sumire who was now sitting in front of her boudoir, straightening her hair. Sumire had naturally wavy hair that almost looked like a perm, and she was always extremely self-conscious of this fact. Ever since she got a straightener for her last birthday, she religiously straightened her hair everyday without fail.

Upon closer inspection, Mikan noticed that Sumire had already donned on her high school uniform with not a single crease visible. The uniform was mostly black except for the crimson and gold trim around the lapels and cuffs.

"How does it feel to be a senior, again?" Sumire asked, making eye contact with Mikan through the mirror. She was brushing out her hair now with Mikan's comb.

"I don't know, feels weird I guess."

"It kind of reminds me of when we were in middle school. Remember how we thought we were totally hot shots just because we were in eighth grade?"

"Yeah. Funny how it doesn't seem like that now."

Sumire rolled her eyes. "Well, obviously, we're not, like, fourteen anymore. We're all turning eighteen this year, isn't that kind of scary to think about?"

It was. Maybe it was just her, but Mikan had an irrational fear of growing up. It wasn't necessarily growing wrinkles that scared her. It was the possibility that her serene little world would collapse around her that did.

But before she could answer, Hotaru had stepped out of the washroom, a white towel wrapped around her head.

"So the sleeping beauty has finally woken up?" Hotaru said in a deadpan voice. Sumire giggled.

Mikan hastily got to her feet and grabbed her towel lying on her desk. She wanted to leave before her friends could start teasing her again. She loved them both, but god, they could both be so merciless with their verbal on slaughter sometimes. "I'll go take a shower now."

III

In the end, she never had the courage to give him the letter. She slipped out of the evening banquet and saw him sitting underneath the sakura tree, again, staring off into nothing. He looked like he was waiting for someone, but she couldn't really discern that since she was so far away.

She clutched the letter in her hand so hard that her palms were left with indentations from her fingernails that had dug into them. Her heart was beating a hundred kilometres per hour.

If she was gone for too long, her friends would start wondering where she was. She took a last glance at his solemn expression—his face shadowed by the canopy of leaves above him—and turned around and walked back inside.

III

Over the years she would see him again, infrequently this time. They had both gone to the same high school but their high school was highly populated, and they were never in the same classes.

Mikan liked art, and she took up every class that had anything remotely to do with the subject. Heck, foolishly, she even took geometry thinking that learning the mathematics of shapes would somehow give her a better understanding of drawing shapes themselves.

He didn't like art. Or at least, he wasn't into it like she was. He was more objective, so it made sense that he liked math and sciences—he was a numbers kind of guy. The kind of guy that likes knowing that a problem had a definite answer. For him, his world was always two plus two equals four.

For her, her world was composed of shades of white and gold. It was a world where two plus two could equal infinity and it would still make sense to her.

They saw each other in the hallways from time to time, but they always avoided eye contact. She would look at the floor, pretending that the tiles underneath her were the most interesting things that she'd ever seen in her whole entire life; and he'd look over the top of her head, pretending to be looking at anything but her.

The afternoons that they had spent together, soaking up the sun under that sakura tree was long gone. A distant memory at most. But now, it was as if they didn't know each other at all. Mikan wondered if she had dreamed everything up.

Sometimes, while she slept, she would see him in her dreams again and remember the faraway look in his eyes when he was at ease, and the nostalgia would hit her hard. Something had irrevocably changed between them the evening she crumpled up her letters for him and stuffed them n a box.

III

"And don't forget your lunch bag," her mom told her, walking out of the kitchen in an apron, holding square bento in her hands.

Mikan flushed. "Thanks, mom. But are the pink, heart-shaped stickers _really_ necessary? I mean, I'm not a baby anymore."

Her mom grinned at her, her wrinkles scrunching up. "But you'll always be _my_ baby."

"Mom!" Mikan hissed, fully aware that Sumire and Hotaru were pretending not to listen in. Lowering her voice, she said, "Not in front of my friends, okay?"

"Yes, yes," her mom retorted, a mischievous look in her eyes.

After bidding all three of them farewell, Yuka stood out on the sidewalk to watch them head down the road.

"You're mom has always been so sweet," Sumire said, looking over her shoulder to see a small, old woman waving. She raised her hand in response.

"She's been like that ever since we were little," Hotaru added.

Mikan gave a short laugh. "She's only nice when you guys come over. You should see her when I forget to do my chores. You'd think that I killed someone or something with the way she yells at me when she's mad."

"Still would take her over my mom, any day"—Sumire shrugged—"My mom is never home."

"I-I'm sorry, Sumire, I didn't mean to sound ungrateful or anything—"

"No, it's okay, it's not a big deal." Sumire waved her off before she could reply, but Mikan felt horribly guilty for bringing up such a sensitive topic. "I never liked my mom anyway."

They walked down the street in silence, passing cars and never changing houses; no one said another word for a while until they turned the corner.

"Still feels weird," Sumire said, punctuating the silence, "to think it's our last year here. Makes you wanna never grow up."

"Speak for yourself, Shouda," Hotaru replied, "I can't wait until I hit my twenties. Being a teen is an awkward stage in life. You're too old to go trick-or-treating, but you're too young to legally drink. Life becomes less complicated after you get passed this stage."

Mikan opened her mouth to speak but then shut it promptly as the thought had time to settle in her mind. She wanted to ask Hotaru if it was possible to feel lonely despite being surrounded by loved ones; she wanted to know if this was just part of what it meant to be a teenager: to always feel perpetually lost.

She didn't think her friend would know the answer, either.


	4. Chapter 4

When she got home that day, she was greeted with a pleasant aroma wafting from the kitchen.

Removing her shoes at the foyer, she stepped onto the parquet and looked around. Everything was normal. Besides the fact that the carpet in the living room had been vacuumed and the pillows on the couch had been rearranged, the rest of the furniture remained untouched.

"Mom?" she called out.

"In here, honey!"

Mikan followed the direction of the voice and saw the small figure of her mother come in to view. Her mother turned around and smiled at her, removing her cooking gloves and apron. She kissed Mikan on both cheeks and gave her a big hug.

"How was your first day of school?"

Mikan gave her a wry smile. "Well, you know, the same old things—besides managing _not_ to fall asleep in Narumi's history of art class, I also actually understood what we were doing in math today…which, I think, must've been some sort of divine intervention because that class always confused the heck out of me."

"Honey, I think you'd be good at anything you wanted if you put in some effort! But anyways, I'm glad that things went well today. It's a good sign for the upcoming year!"

Mikan sniffed the air and looked at her watch. It was a quarter to three. "Why are you cooking so early? It's not like Dad will be home for dinner any time soon."

"Oh, it's not for us. I'm just cooking some muffins for our new neighbors." Her mother reached into the oven, cooking gloves on this time, and pulled out a tray of chocolate muffins still steaming from the heat. She laid it down carefully on the kitchen counter, which was littered with icing tubes, cookie cutters, and ingredients.

Mikan had forgotten about the house next door that had gone on the market over the summer. The previous owners had been a nice, old couple whose children were much older than Mikan and had moved out before Mikan had even started high school. After a couple of years since their children moved out, the couple next door decided that the place was much too big for just the two of them, and hoped to move into a quaint country house by the end of the summer.

Mikan remembered the bittersweet moment when she found out about this. Truth be told, she liked the old couple next door. They invited her over a lot to play with their pet dog, who by now, was ancient in his years. Back then, when Mikan was still quite young, she was allowed to play with the old woman's antique tea sets and she remembered bringing her dolls along with her to act out a makeshift scene of tea. She loved going to that house. It was the largest lot on the street, totally unlike like her own small, cozy home. It had so many floors that Mikan almost lost count

As she got older, she started going over less and less since she felt too old to be playing with dolls and old Scout—the name of the dog—was getting on in his years, and wasn't as energetic as he used to be. Still, the memories of the evenings she spent there were memories that she still cherished.

"Oh, have you met them, yet?" asked Mikan, letting her backpack down on the floor. She went over to the counter and reached over her mother to grab a fresh muffin. The muffin was still so hot that it burned the tips of her fingers at first.

Her mother swatted her hand away. "_These_," her mother said carefully, "are for the neighbors! Not for greedy little piglets like yourself!"

"But_, Mom_." Mikan pouted. "How could you deny your only child the sustenance to satiate their ravenous hunger?"

Her mother chuckled a bit, but remained unmoved. Mikan gave up. Some battles in life were battles not meant to be won.

She hopped off the counter and grabbed another muffin before her mother could say anything.

"Mikan! If you take any more of these muffins I swear I won't cook dinner!"

"I love you, too!" Mikan yelled back, running down the stairs that lead to the basement. Before she turned the corner, she saw her mother shake her head in annoyed amusement.

She opened the door to her art studio. Popping the last piece of the muffin in her mouth, she sat down in front of the easel and looked at her unfinished painting. Two pairs of eyes stared back of her—one pair had a shade of icy blue that made Mikan shiver; it took her forever to get that shade. And the other pair was so darkly colored it seemed unnatural. The scene was supposed to be depict two child angels languidly lying around a bed of feathers, just staring.

So far, she had drawn the blue-eyed angel with his face propped upon one hand, looking curiously back at her. While the other angel, she had drawn to look bored, almost sleepy-like, outstretched on the bed of feathers as if it were the softest bed in the world. Mikan kind of envied the relaxed manner in which the latter angel was feeling.

"I wonder what you're thinking," she said of the dark-eyed angel staring indolently back at her. She touched her lip with her forefinger and pondered the question for a while.

Funny how she couldn't even discern the thoughts of her own subjects.

Then, she picked up her paintbrush and began to paint.

III

"Mikan!"

Mikan dropped her paintbrush. She looked at the painting in front of her and felt somewhat unsatisfied. After a couple hours of painting she managed to finish the blue-eyed angel's face, complete with the cherub lips and rosy cheeks. On the other hand, she had much trouble adjusting the expression of the dark-eyed angel. It seemed no matter what she did, he stared back at her with that familiar lazy expression.

She stretched her legs and aching arms and got up. She put away her brushes and paints and closed the door of her studio behind her.

"You called?" Mikan asked as she ventured into the dining room.

Her mom was standing in front of her, fully made up. She donned on her pearl earrings—which were reserved for the most special of occasions—and even put in a tad bit of makeup that made her eye color pop against her pastel dress.

"Whoa, what's the occasion?"

"Well, I just thought we should look nice when we meet and have dinner our new neighbors for the first time," her mom said, radiant.

"Wait a minute. I thought you were just going to give them your baked muffins, who said anything about having dinner with them?"

"Oh, well, I ran in to the Missus as I was getting in the car to go to the grocery store, and we hit up a conversation"—her mom held up her soothing hand as she saw Mikan's face contort—"one thing led to another, and, well, they invited us over for dinner. I thought it would be nice. They have a kid who goes to the same high school as you, too, so you won't be bored while us adults talk about the weather and such. I thought it sounded lovely."

"Okay…but that doesn't really explain your whole "—Mikan paused, trying to think of the right word—"get up," she said, waving her hand up and down the length of her mother's body.

Her mother fidgeted with her right earring. "They are very classy people."

Mikan eyed her mother suspiciously. "You're saying that they're loaded with the green stuff, aren't you?"

Her mother sighed. "They may be rich, but can't a woman dress up for once and not be questioned for it?"

Mikan shrugged. She didn't really see the need to impress these folks like her mother had so bent on doing. Whether or not they were well off, it made no difference to her at all. "I'm not against it. Just—I don't really get to see you dressed up often. You look nice. I'm sure dad would throw a fit when he sees you."

"Thanks, honey," her mother beamed, rows of white teeth flashing back at her. "Now hurry up and put on the dress I laid out on your bed." Her mother gave her a glance that traveled along her whole body. It made Mikan feel a tad bit self-conscious. "And maybe comb your hair, too."

"Yes, yes, captain."

Leaving her mother humming in the living room, Mikan ran up to her bedroom. As she reached the top of the flight of the stairs, she heard the door open and a patter of feet along the wooden floors.

"Y-Yuka, you look amazing!" she heard her father say. She grinned.

Even her parents, after almost eighteen years of marriage, could still have those special lovey-dovey moments that made Mikan want to barf.

It was best to leave them to it, and she shut her door just as she heard her mother laughing.

She undressed quickly, hanging her school uniform in her closet, which she desperately had to clean and organize some time soon; it was beginning to look like a garbage pile of clothes. Then she removed the elastic that tied her hair up in a bun. After half an hour of showering, scrubbing her skin, and combing out her hair, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror, somewhat pleased

She had more meat on her these days. Her arms and legs were no longer scrawny, like they were two summers ago, and her skin had substantially cleared. She bunched up the edge of the dress in one hand and stared. Her mother had chosen a white, floral dress with a frilly neckline that made her look younger than she already did.

She would never be conventionally pretty, no. Her face was too round and her eyes were too big, but tonight, she felt prettier than she'd ever been before. For once in her life, Mikan Sakura thought she actually looked decent.

When she descended the stairs that evening, one hand grasping the rail, she saw her mother adding the final touches to her father's outfit.

With one firm movement, Yuka tugged and tightened the tie.

"Ouch," Izumi croaked, wincing. "Are you trying to suffocate me, Yuka?"

"If you just held still for a while, then this wouldn't have been such a painful process!" Yuka retorted back, in her cute, indignant way.

Mikan felt awkward watching them. She coughed conspicuously to attract their attention.

It was her mother who saw her first. When she did, her eyes light up and her hands flew to her open mouth as if in shock.

"Mikan, you look beautiful!"

Her father turned around and gave a small smile as well, the wrinkles around the corners of his mouth lifting. There was a wistful look in his eyes. "What have you done with my daughter? Is that really my baby girl standing before me?"

Mikan rolled her eyes, evidently not affected. "You're my parents. It's your job to say oversentimental things like that."

Her mother shook her head. "Mikan, you're actually blossoming in to a beautiful young lady. It's quite unfortunate that it's only you who can't see it."

Mikan was about to make another witty retort, but her mother interrupted her to it. Glancing at her watch, Yuka's eyes grew as large as saucers. "We better be going! Being late is never a good way to make a first impression!"

"Yuka, calm down, they live next door."

"Yeah, mom, it'll literally take like five seconds to cross our lawn to theirs. There's no rush."

Her mother wagged a finger at both of them as if they were both toddlers caught misbehaving. "I'm afraid punctuality was never something you and your father were particularly good at."

Izumi smirked and gave Mikan a light pat on the shoulders. "What are you talking about? I've never been late to work, ever. I've got perfect attendance…but maybe not anymore because of yesterday, and the day before that, but I was having car troubles, you know that!"

"I've never been late for school this year," Mikan chimed in, playing along with her father.

Yuka raised her eyebrows righteously. "That's because you've only had one day of class so far. Need I pull out your attendance sheet from last year?" Mikan pulled a face of displeasure at the mention of her attendance record of last year.

"I had history of art in the mornings, mom. I basically slept in that class anyways, so it made perfect sense to use that time to sleep _in_ my bad instead of on my desk. It was a question of practicality, you see."

"Uh huh," her mother said, not convinced by both excuses. "You and your father are like two peas in a pod."

Through the window, Mikan eyed her new neighbour's lawn. Besides the boxes piled up on top of each other that still needed to be carried inside, the new family seemed to have settled in quite nicely. Their lawn had already been decorated with garden gnomes and pots of flowers; the porch had two muskoka chairs sitting idly near the steps; and the lights inside shone brightly against the dark curtains.

To any passerby, the white house on the edge of the street seemed like a picturesque family home.


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Natsume-kun,_

_I was an art geek. You couldn't understand me even if you tried. But you did—try, I mean. And I don't think you know how much it meant to me for someone to look past my love of art as something beyond obsession, and to see it for what it truly was: a passion. _

_I painted weird things back then; mostly abstract art with senseless, swirling lines, and clashing colors. I was keen on drawing shapes. It freaked people out to look at them and they'd always put on a fake smile, all the while forcing themselves to find an appropriate compliment. If I had a dollar for every time someone stuttered and said that my art looked "nice," well…my pockets would be overflowing._

_But you were different. You didn't try to gloss your opinion over with placatory words or fulsome praise. _

"_I don't get it," you said, looking at my newest creation: a collection of triangles drawn in different sizes, lying on top of one another._

_And that's just it. You weren't supposed to get it. Art wasn't like that—at least, my art wasn't. I wasn't trying to create that was conventionally pretty; I wasn't trying convey a particular message. In the most unromantic terms, I was trying to create something that meant nothing. The deepness of that abstract painting resembled the depth of a puddle; which is to say, there was not much depth to it at all._

_But people always tried to find meaning in things where it wasn't intended. But couldn't things simply exist without having to explain itself? Couldn't an artist draw a triangle without it being interpreted as symbolic for something?_

_I was afraid to show you my art during that period of my life, mostly because it was a novelty for me, and even I wasn't sure if I could embrace that part of myself._

_A painting is a reflection of an artists' soul, and I was afraid of showing you mine in fear that you wouldn't like what you saw._

III

One minute the doorbell rang, and the next minute, the door opened and a short woman in a cocktail dress hustled all three of them inside.

Mikan glanced at their hostess. She had black eyes, black hair, and alabaster skin, and Mikan thought that she looked hauntingly beautiful. She smiled at them all, shook their hands, and made small talk with her parents.

"Oh! You didn't have to go through the trouble, Yuka!" The woman, who had introduced herself as Kaoru, said, in dismay. She took the tray of muffins from Yuka's hands.

My mother flicked her wrist, an indication that she was in a good mood. "It was my pleasure. Besides, as I've told you already, I love to cook."

While the adults had got to talking, Mikan took a look around. She hadn't set foot in this house for several years and standing there—under the bright lights of their foyer—a pang of nostalgia hit her. Hard.

To her right was the dining room, and she could already see the silverware set out on the long oak wood table. Wooden cabinets holding utensils and other fine china stood in the corner of the room, enveloped by shadows. How many times had she played in there as a young girl with old Scout to keep her company? Of course the new owners had left their mark on the house, and Mikan noticed a few new paintings that had been hung around the house that weren't there previously. She also noticed that the kitchen had been painted a lighter color of mauve than before, but for the most part, the house still retained its old furnishings.

On her left, Mikan noticed that the hearth had been tended to, and that the fire was alive and well. The flames crackled, long tendrils licked the logs and the heat warmed the whole floor. In front of the fireplace, a wine-colored divan was stretched out and Mikan looked longingly at it. She imagined herself lying down on the divan after a particularly busy day and soaking up the warmth that the fireplace had to offer.

It was perfect. The house was perfect. Their hostess seemed perfect. So it followed that they were to have a perfect evening. But the illusion of perfection didn't last long.

"Let me introduce you to the rest of my family," Kaoru said, turning a corner to what Mikan remembered had been an old office.

When Kaoru came into view, a long-limbed man flanked her side. He had a gaunt face, with piercing crimson eyes. The glasses perched onto the bridge of his nose made him look more sly than he already did. Mikan shivered just looking at him. He was such a sharp contrast to his petite, and lovely wife.

"My husband, Tora," Kaoru said, gesturing between the man and the Mikan's family.

Tora gave a half-smile and shook each of their hands though Mikan was reluctant to reciprocate the gesture. "Nice to meet you. I'm glad that you've made my wife feel welcome here in her new surroundings. The move was particularly hard for our entire family."

Mikan's mother nodded and almost looked teary-eyed at Kaoru. She knew that Tora's announcement had pulled at her mother's heartstrings. Mikan rolled her eyes. Her mother was too sentimental and it embarrassed her sometimes.

"Youichi! Natsume!" Kaoru, who was now clutching the bannister of the staircase, yelled into the darkness.

Mikan froze on the spot. Her heart sped up to an unnatural speed. She did her best not to show her discomfort. After all, a name meant nothing. Two different people could share the same name. It was entirely plausible.

But a knot started to form in the pit of her stomach and a feeling of dread washed over her. Her palms clammed up. Something told her that the possibility of a coincidence was slim.

Two figures emerged from the top of the stairs, and Mikan had to squint in order to make out their outline in the darkness. After a few moments of staring, she lowered her eyes to the floor and refused to look up again.

"My ten-year-old son, Youichi."

Mikan refused to look up. She focused on stilling her quivering hand.

"And my eldest, Natsume. He should be around your age, Mikan-chan."

Mikan stayed silent, eyes glued to the floor. From the corner of her eye, she saw her mother elbow her gently.

"Have you two met before?" Natsume's unsuspecting mother asked, looking between the two forlorn figures.

Mikan dared to look up and she was met with a fierce stare. A pair of crimson eyes bore into her, searing her skin and making her feel as if she stood there naked. She might as well have been, considering that she felt extremely vulnerable.

He was dressed in a casual shirt, so unlike the rest of his family's formal attire. He evidently did not consider the occasion worthy enough to take seriously. It made Mikan feel stupid, standing there in her frilly dress—she had an irresistible urge to take it off.

When they made eye contact, his cold expression never wavered. They hadn't looked at each other for years, at least, they never _really_ took a good look at each other. Mikan noticed that he looked different from the Natsume she had met all those years ago. He seemed icier in demeanor now: his high nose and cheekbones made him look regal and at the same time, cold and detached. But there was still a lingering trace of his youthful innocence present in his colored cheeks and cherub lips—all vestiges of the Natsume she used to know.

"We don't know each other," he said, in a way that only Mikan could have interpreted as a deliberate insult. She clenched her fists to her side. It was a half truth. He wasn't exactly lying. They truly didn't know each other. Not anymore.

"What a shame, I thought since you'd gone to the same school..." Kaoru shook her head. "Never mind that. I don't want you to be bored Mikan-chan so I thought knowing someone would make it easier for you, but Natsume is a good kid, I'm sure he'll make you feel welcome."

Mikan gave her weak smile. Somehow, with the deathly glare Natsume was giving her, she didn't feel like he'd be welcoming to her at all.

The dinner progressed smoothly, at least for the adults it did. Her mother and Kaoru got along especially well, talking about the décor of the house and Kaoru's future renovation plans. Mr. Hyuuga—the title that Natsume's father had asked her to address him as—and her father argued lightheartedly about which baseball team they were pinning their bets on for the season.

Out of all of them, Mikan observed that Youichi ate in silence. He was a quiet child with spiky brown hair that fell to his eyes. He hadn't spoken a word all evening. Even Natsume didn't speak to him, at least, not verbally. They made eye contact a few times and it seemed as if an unspoken dialogue unfolded between them; one in which Mikan was particularly excluded from.

Mikan's mother noticed it, too. Being a jovial person, Yuka wanted everyone to join in on the conversation.

"How are you liking school so far, Natsume?" Yuka asked, shifting the attention to the sullen Natsume who was picking at his food with his fork.

Natsume gave a curt, perfunctory reply and went back to eating.

Yuka turned her attention to Youichi, who was staring into his soup as if he were mesmerized by it.

"And how about you, You-kun?"

Youichi didn't look up, but continued to stare down at his soup. He didn't seem aware that the conversations had stopped and everyone was looking at him.

"You'll have to excuse him, Yuka," Kaoru interrupted hastily, looking away. "He's not exactly normal."

"What do you mean? He looks pretty normal to me."

Mikan agreed. Besides the fact that Youichi seemed absentminded, nothing peculiar stood out about him.

Mr. Hyuuga took off his glasses and glanced towards his youngest son with a tender look. Then he switched his focus back towards Mikan and the rest of her family. "We should have mentioned this earlier, but sometimes it can slip our minds as well. Youichi is deaf. He's been that way since birth. He communicates fine through sign language, but he gets awfully shy and quiet around strangers. Sometimes he goes off in his own little world when he wants too, and our doctor has said that it was normal for his age to be absentminded at times."

Youchi looked up now as if he had heard his father speaking, but Mikan knew that he couldn't have understood what was going on.

Mr. Hyuuga had made a sign with his fingers and Youchi signed back, smiling this time.

"What did he say?" Her mother turned to Mr. Hyuuga who translated willingly.

"He responded to your question. He said that he enjoys going to school."

"What a lovely boy."

But Mikan didn't think that Youichi was telling the truth. There was a sad look in his eyes as if he were holding back feelings he could not express.

Mikan noticed that Natsume was watching her. He seemed to be gauging he her reaction to the news that his brother was deaf, but she didn't skip a beat. To her, it made no difference. After all, she always thought that a person should be judged by the merit of their character and not by their shortcomings.

When the adults had resumed their conversation and Youichi had gone back to staring at his soup, Natsume propped his elbows on the table and leaned in.

Mikan had been trying very hard to ignore his presence but she would be lying if she said it wasn't difficult. In between mouthfuls of food, she felt as if her every movement were being watched—analyzed and noted.

"Do you still draw and stuff?" he asked, out of the blue.

Mikan was caught off guard. She was so shocked that she almost dropped her spoon. She pushed her plate away from her. "Yes. Maybe? Why are you asking me this now?"

He leaned back on his chair and shrugged. "I don't know. There was this one painting you did. You know, the one with the sakura tree."

Mikan remembered. She had painted an acrylic picture of the sakura tree that they used to meet under. It had taken her forever to get the exact details of each petal on point. But she never considered that painting to be noteworthy or special. She painted it one day because she felt like it. She didn't understand why he was bringing it up all of a sudden.

"I thought it was beautiful. It was one of the few paintings you did at the time that I thought was beautiful."

He was referring to her stage in which she drew and painted only shapes and lines. She strictly confined herself into this art form.

Her eyes started to moist and she angrily held back her emotions. "Why are you asking me this now?"

But what she really wanted to ask was: Why did you ignore me after the graduation ceremony? Why did you have to act as if I had never been part of your life?

He didn't respond this time. He seemed satisfied with her answer and he went back to ignoring her.

Mikan gritted her teeth. She cursed him for his fickle behavior and focused all her energies on willing the dinner to be over as soon as possible.


End file.
